


To Kiss a Thief

by saltwaterselkie



Category: To Catch a Thief (1955)
Genre: Alfred Hitchcock - Freeform, F/F, First Kiss, Girls Kissing, I mean, Rarepair, SO, and you know, hitchcock needs some updating, i thought they'd be cute together, plus Francie NEEDS to be a Cat eventually, this fandom has like 3 fics, to the extreme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 03:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwaterselkie/pseuds/saltwaterselkie
Summary: Francie wants to live on the wild side. And who's got more of a wild side than the new Cat?





	To Kiss a Thief

Francie saw the man leap out of the boat and cocked her head to the side. It wasn’t that he’d jumped out, particularly – plenty of men taking a day on the sands were making similar choices in hopes of catching the eye of some innocent young French maid – but rather the urgency with which he’d done it. He hadn’t even glanced up to see which girls were watching; just dove in, straight as a pencil.

She watched him surface and look up, towards the sky… where a plane dipped overhead. Francie held a hand over her eyes and looked up at it, silhouetted against the azure sky, before looking back down.

The man was still in the water, and she could’ve kept her eye on him, could’ve watched him swim and get out and do who could’ve guessed what. But instead, Francie’s attention was drawn to the boat he’d disembarked out of. She didn’t quite know why; perhaps it was the carefree way the French girl driving it turned and rocketed towards another boat with a whoop.

At the last moment, the girl yanked her boat to the side and narrowly avoided a magnificent crash with an almost-yacht. Her boat sent a spray of saltwater over the terrified passengers. Francie raised an eyebrow as she watched the girl give a saucy wave to the freshly soaked men and women yelling rather unpleasant things her way. The boat spun towards the edge of the marina, and the girl pushed it forward with wild abandon.

Francie caught just a glimpse of cropped hair and a smile glistening white in the sun before the girl was too far away to see.

<><><> 

It didn’t make sense, but she was thinking of that last glimpse of sun-bronzed skin and the crests of the soft blue waves and the sun glistening on the water all day. She barely noticed the man who’d jumped out of the boat making his way onto the sands after an hour or two in the water.

Francie tried to push it out of her mind. There was nothing special about the girl. Nothing at all.

Her conviction didn’t keep her from being distracted for too long, well into the next day… when she saw him again. The man from the beach. A Mr. Burns, it seemed, from Oregon – and, for some reason, Francie’s first thought when she met him was that she could ask him how he knew that girl.

She tried to distract herself from it. Mr. Burns ignored her, so she kissed him, and she didn’t quite know why.

<><><> 

When she saw who he was swimming over to on that raft, Francie’s breath caught in hear throat. A small, affronted noise escaped her lips; it was something in between jealousy and wistfulness, a strange mix if ever she’d heard one. She watched from afar, just for a little while. She could see the girl smiling, see the curve of her hip in stark contrast to the water lapping at the raft behind her.

Francie swallowed. She got to her feet, made her way down the shore, and dove in without a second thought (she’d never been one of those girls to dip her toes in and giggle, ladylike, as she waded out into the ocean).

The French girl was even more stunning up close – she looked to be about Francie’s age, and there was a sharpness in her gaze when she looked at Francie that made France feel like she was in the focusing field of a camera. Like any wrong move she made would be caught on film.

The intensity of it sent something buzzing in her stomach.

She smiled and laughed and teased and didn’t show Mr. Burns – who she was starting to think was not Mr. Burns after all, from the way he had introduced her to the girl – that he was not the swimmer holding her attention. It was Danielle she kept her eyes on. Danielle. The name tasted like lemon on her tongue.

<><><> 

There were policemen following Mr. Robie. Francie felt something stir as she slammed on the gas – feelings, surprising feelings, because she had gone so long without a true thrill. Unbidden, the image of the French girl – Danielle – came to her mind, of a boat coaxed towards the horizon, leaving waves in its wake.

Francie yanked the wheel to the side and narrowly avoided hurtling off the steep cliff’s edge that bordered the road. That wouldn’t do, she thought – no, that wouldn’t do at all.

She didn’t kiss Mr. Robie again, even though she could tell he wanted her to. Francie’s mind was on other things. On the fact that the Cat had been scoping out her mother’s jewels, for one. And on how excellent that French swimsuit had looked with the French girl in it.

Francie was usually quite honest with herself. It was easy to admit that she was interested in Danielle. She just didn’t precisely know why.

<><><> 

When her mother’s jewelry was stolen, Francie knew it was the Cat.

She’d left him earlier that evening, found her way to her room alone to sketch a scene of the seaside. She hadn’t been there to watch him, and it was his fault, then, that the jewels had been stolen.

Except… except she’d seen the way he swam. Not cutting through the water like a professional, but with slow, paced strokes. And there’d been a paunch around his belly, only barely noticeable. He wasn’t the limber man he must’ve been all those years ago, she would be willing to gamble.

And he claimed innocence, which was something. Claimed he’d gone clean.

Francie somewhat wished he hadn’t. She could’ve joined up with him. The thrill of a burglary, of tiptoeing across an unsuspecting rich man’s roof – _that_ would warm Francie’s cold heart, she thought. She was rich but had grown up poor, grown up with tales of Robin Hood as her idol, and for an instant when she’d realized he was the Cat she’d thought there might be a chance for her to escape this wretchedly boring life and do something worthwhile.

She thought of the glimmer in Danielle’s eyes and frowned when John told her his plan for the party. Because Francie was smart, even if she didn’t let people see it, and she thought of Danielle’s toned calves and alert eyes and knew who the Cat would be catching.

She saw Danielle in the group of men setting up for the ball – the caterers – and approached. It would be a while yet before she needed to be dressed up in that fantastically huge ball gown to dance the whole night through, and she saw the chance and took it.

Francie sidled up to Danielle with a lazy smile on her face. She knew Danielle could see her in her periphery, but Francie was, unusually, ignored. So she leaned close to Danielle’s ear and whispered, “_Bonsoir, mon petit chat_.”

_Good evening, my little cat_.

Danielle’s hands stopped in the middle of organizing a tray of hors d'oeuvres. A muscle in her jaw flexed.

“And why do you think you can call me that here, Princess?” She asked hotly, her French accent thick. “I’m assuming you have the police just around the corner?”

“Not at all,” Francie replied, drawing away. “I’d like to have a chat, _mon petit chat_.”

Danielle’s hand flitted towards a kitchen knife. Gaze darting to Francie, she seemed to reconsider, eyes narrowing, and left the weapon where it was.

“Suppose you can take me with your bare hands?” Francie asked innocently.

Danielle spun on her heel and stomped off towards the edge of the grounds, maid’s uniform spinning with her. Francie glanced over her shoulder at the other caterers, busy barking orders at each other, and followed.

They were hidden in the shade of a tree as the sun slowly dropped. Francie bit her lip. She and Danielle were almost exactly the same height. Warmth in Francie’s stomach, again, and suddenly she wasn’t so confused about what it meant anymore. Not with Danielle’s nose only inches from hers.

“What do you want from me?” Danielle asked, and Francie didn’t honor the question with words.

Instead, she leaned forwards toward Danielle and kissed her.

Danielle drew back for the briefest of instances, their lips parting, and then responded gamely, shoving her face against Francie’s like it was a competition. A competition to last only a few seconds, it seemed, because she broke the kiss in a moment.

“Wanted to see how French girls do it?” Danielle asked, an insult obvious in her voice. “Before you hand me off to the police? Before you tell John?”

“John already knows,” Francie said with a blissful sigh. She ran her thumb down Danielle’s collarbone and took it as a good sign that Danielle let her do it. “You’re not too subtle, you know.”

“Mmm,” Danielle said noncommittally, pride obviously stung. “Then why?”

“You know,” Francie said, “I’ve been thinking of learning a thing or two about French architecture. Perhaps starting with the roofs. And I think… I think perhaps I need a teacher.”

Danielle glared at her for an instant before realizing she was serious. She raised an eyebrow. “You are just pretty enough for those stupid lines to work, American,” she spat out, though there wasn’t much venom in her tone. “Show me again how poorly Americans kiss?”

Softer this time, sweeter. Francie tangled her fingers in Danielle’s hair and felt intensely alive.

<><><> 

Poor John Robie started the adventure with one Cat to catch and ended it with two. Luckily for him, they made sure to stage a heist while he had a clear alibi. Out of allegiance to a friend, they agreed. He might’ve had a taste for the dramatics, what with that plan at the ball, but he was a good man. Besides, Danielle and Francie agreed over a romantic dinner beside the Riviera that they might as well start taking credit for their own capers – which, it must be said, they completed just as professionally as the original Cat had, once.

There was one difference, though, between the two of them and John Robie.

They never got caught.


End file.
